Post by asper92 on Nov 18, 2009 22:32:57 GMT -5
Frosty beams shot down from a snowy white moon that stood high in the sky. A single figure, illuminated by the majestic rays, stood tall and proud against the otherwise dark and murky night. This man was well dressed, as always. He was always seen in the finest: the finest tuxedo and matching dress shoes. Every physical aspect was impeccably defined on his entity: a sheer gentleman and scholar right from the most prestigious novel; the typical female charmer.
Dark crimson locks of wild hair flowed just to shoulder length. He possessed perfect form and distinct posture that was usual for one that had pride and power. He wore a shimmering blade at his side, created from the most premium silver metal and forged to a state of flawlessness. However, this intricate blade was not the most powerful tool he had; his mind always came first in the end. Able to weave tales that intoxicated the mind into a blissful state, this dark figure was not one to be reckoned with. If you were not caught and entranced by his words, his eyes would almost every time captured and destroyed one’s remaining resistance, causing them to ultimately shatter beneath his mighty gaze. His alluring eyes held the most enthralling hazel that would glint in the moonlight, breaching one’s natural instinct to stay away from such danger. Overall, this man was a king of deceit and illusions. This man was the shadow that lurked every corner of one’s mind. This immortal man was Artinn Sintar.
If one looked at the whole scene before them, not just the man standing alone in the street absorbing glorious streams of moonlight, one might see the following. Several fresh corpses lay strew across the black and tainted pavement. Four in total, three women, and one man. Artinn was impartial to his meal and this night, he was on a rampage to consume as much as his heart desired. He had been tortured in a sense for the past few weeks, by his own self, coincidently. Several weeks ago, he had stolen away into the night, away from all the commotion of the dead city, from the enslavement of his own kind – which he had no care for – and the common and dreary nighttime activities - which he no longer felt - were entertaining. He required some time to think on his own and reflect on his current predicament and standing. His recent thoughts contemplated how weak he was slowly becoming and how to halt that process. He despised the thought of weakness and fragility; he left those thoughts for humans and Werewolves to ponder, it was not something a Vampire of his grace and ability should ever have to consider. Consequently, he decided it was time to bring out the ruthless personality he possessed once again. The same personality he had centuries ago after he killed his family: his individual devotion towards gaining power and caring for no one but himself and taking what he deserved and had the right to – essentially anything he wanted.
Accordingly, there he stood: standing atop corpses of unfortunate victims that simply crumbled beneath the beginning of his unstoppable reign. Soon, he would stand atop all the bodies of those who were in his way to divine supremacy. Soon, he would crush them all. Nevertheless, for the time being, his calculating mind knew that to get to the top, you always had to start at the bottom. Therefore, that is what he did.
He continued down the streets of the broken city he so long ago called home; now, it was purely a stepping-stone to his ascension to absolute power. God save the soul that dare cross his unholy path, whether it be Vampire, Lycan, Human, Werebeast, or Angel. He did not have a heart to concern himself with the wellbeing. He would undoubtedly just tear them down where they stood.
Thus, he progressed down the streets, lips still red with blood and hazel eyes alert for the unlucky individual that roamed the street. His twisted and warped mind never ceasing its constant malicious nature as the soulless monster prowled the ruined world. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Artinn Sintar, the king without mercy and pity, the king of corruption. He was the tidal wave about to crash down and drown everything in its wake.
Dark crimson locks of wild hair flowed just to shoulder length. He possessed perfect form and distinct posture that was usual for one that had pride and power. He wore a shimmering blade at his side, created from the most premium silver metal and forged to a state of flawlessness. However, this intricate blade was not the most powerful tool he had; his mind always came first in the end. Able to weave tales that intoxicated the mind into a blissful state, this dark figure was not one to be reckoned with. If you were not caught and entranced by his words, his eyes would almost every time captured and destroyed one’s remaining resistance, causing them to ultimately shatter beneath his mighty gaze. His alluring eyes held the most enthralling hazel that would glint in the moonlight, breaching one’s natural instinct to stay away from such danger. Overall, this man was a king of deceit and illusions. This man was the shadow that lurked every corner of one’s mind. This immortal man was Artinn Sintar.
If one looked at the whole scene before them, not just the man standing alone in the street absorbing glorious streams of moonlight, one might see the following. Several fresh corpses lay strew across the black and tainted pavement. Four in total, three women, and one man. Artinn was impartial to his meal and this night, he was on a rampage to consume as much as his heart desired. He had been tortured in a sense for the past few weeks, by his own self, coincidently. Several weeks ago, he had stolen away into the night, away from all the commotion of the dead city, from the enslavement of his own kind – which he had no care for – and the common and dreary nighttime activities - which he no longer felt - were entertaining. He required some time to think on his own and reflect on his current predicament and standing. His recent thoughts contemplated how weak he was slowly becoming and how to halt that process. He despised the thought of weakness and fragility; he left those thoughts for humans and Werewolves to ponder, it was not something a Vampire of his grace and ability should ever have to consider. Consequently, he decided it was time to bring out the ruthless personality he possessed once again. The same personality he had centuries ago after he killed his family: his individual devotion towards gaining power and caring for no one but himself and taking what he deserved and had the right to – essentially anything he wanted.
Accordingly, there he stood: standing atop corpses of unfortunate victims that simply crumbled beneath the beginning of his unstoppable reign. Soon, he would stand atop all the bodies of those who were in his way to divine supremacy. Soon, he would crush them all. Nevertheless, for the time being, his calculating mind knew that to get to the top, you always had to start at the bottom. Therefore, that is what he did.
He continued down the streets of the broken city he so long ago called home; now, it was purely a stepping-stone to his ascension to absolute power. God save the soul that dare cross his unholy path, whether it be Vampire, Lycan, Human, Werebeast, or Angel. He did not have a heart to concern himself with the wellbeing. He would undoubtedly just tear them down where they stood.
Thus, he progressed down the streets, lips still red with blood and hazel eyes alert for the unlucky individual that roamed the street. His twisted and warped mind never ceasing its constant malicious nature as the soulless monster prowled the ruined world. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Artinn Sintar, the king without mercy and pity, the king of corruption. He was the tidal wave about to crash down and drown everything in its wake.